


Paint

by Shinaka



Category: The Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel - Fandom, Trails of Cold Steel, 英雄伝説 閃の軌跡 | The Legend of Heroes: Sen no kiseki (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 07:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11596149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinaka/pseuds/Shinaka
Summary: Gaius asks Elliot to be his model for his next painting. Anxiety and compliments ensue. Hints of Gaius/Elliot.





	Paint

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote basically a 200-word skeleton of this fic months ago before Trails Twitter got me off my ass to revise it, fill in more words, and to finally publish it at horrible-bedtime-o'clock because damn, I can't stand how tiny this fandom is on AO3.

The invitation comes as a shock at first.  _Why me?_  Elliot is agape. He cannot even muster words for Gaius. But as the silence between them continues to stretch, the violinist finds that his sudden shyness does not excuse being rude to his friend.

  

“B-but… Why do you want _me_ to be your model?” He settles for looking somewhere vaguely above Gaius’ head.

 

Elliot knows he shouldn’t be feeling nervous. The Nordian has been nothing less than friendly and respectful. But he does not exude or feel the confidence a painter’s model should have. Aren’t models supposed to be larger than life yet patient and accessible? Whenever he peeks inside the art room, the models – always elegantly feminine or masculinely imposing – are caught in the middle of sweeping gestures, one beat away from accomplishing magnificence or tragedy. Elliot, on the other hand, looks and feels small even next to Fie, who is not only younger but whose quietness belies a knife’s edge, honed sharp from experiences he cannot even begin to fathom.  

 

Even his experience as a musician does not dampen the anxiety. When he performs in front of crowds, he knows the focus is always on the music and its creation, not on him. After all, orchestras are grouped by instruments and not by their players.

  

So lost is Elliot in his thoughts that he almost does not hear Gaius’ reply.

 

“…Because I would like to capture the way you play the violin,” the other boy answers. 

 

Elliot’s eyes snap back to his friend’s face. “Excuse me?” When has he last invited him to listen to him play? In between the blur of field training and studying for exams, the last time would be... several months ago, when Gaius and Rean had dropped by with sheet music for the Music Club as a favor to Hibelle. 

 

The rehearsal had been quick and to Elliot, disappointing. The Music Club members had started a new piece that day and he was still getting used to the rather frenetic pace. Notes had been dropped and apologies issued to his friends. Even so, the Nordian would like to paint him?

  

Gaius continues. “I know it’s been some time since I last saw you play. I hope you’ll understand why I waited so long to ask, being in the same class and all.”

 

When he grins at the smaller boy, Elliot can feel some of the pressure slowly seep away. 

  

“Don’t worry about the timing,” the musician says. “I understand perfectly. Our field studies really don’t give us a lot of time in between for club activities and then we have to do homework…"

  

He’s babbling but somehow it’s all right. His heart is floating, fluttering, and he can’t seem to keep his eyes on the painter’s face anymore. Especially not when Gaius keeps smiling the way he does, endlessly open and welcoming.

  

But even as Elliot is starting to revel in the flattery his friend paid him through such a request, even after a performance that was lackluster and thrown together, he still has a question.

  

“But why would you want to paint me as I’m performing? Don’t you have models that come in just for your club, Gaius?” 

 

At this, the taller boy deliberates, lips pursing in concentration. Elliot gulps, nerves instantly frayed once more. Maybe he should have just let the matter be. Instead his curiosity is putting Gaius on the spot when a simple “Yes” would have been enough.

 

After several moments pass, the boy finally responds. “Honestly, I can’t tell you a specific reason why.”

 

The violinist’s heart sinks. So being his model is just based on a whim and nothing more.

  

“However,” Gaius says and suddenly his hand is on Elliot's shoulder. “All I know is that there’s something wonderful about seeing you play the violin. You enjoy yourself, even when you want to give up at the same time. You push on, even when things try their best to push you back.” ( _So he remembers me messing up the piece_ , Elliot realizes, with growing embarrassment.)

 

Gaius squeezes his shoulder, then lets go despite the other boy's wishes. “I want to paint all of those feelings. Even though the models the Art Club gets are talented, they can’t express all those years of experience, happiness, and perseverance that you can."

  

Elliot’s mouth opens. Shuts. His brain has found new ways to short-circuit in the span of mere minutes.

  

At the beginning of the school year, he thought quite frankly that two years at Thors would be a chore, despite the reputable music program. Discovering that he was in Class VII only made him more anxious – the amount of training, traveling, and fighting it required made him feel as if his dream of being a world-class violinist was becoming more and more remote. 

 

But he has found friends in Class VII, friends who will let Elliot teach Orbal Arts and review Orbal Computing with them, back him up during battles until his Arts are ready, and confide in him and he them. The Music Club is filled with talented students – in the case of Mint, _dedicated_ students – that have challenged him to grow as a music academy would. Then in front of him, there is Gaius, who has somehow found inspiration in him, looking at him, patiently as always.

 

Elliot’s brain finally resumes activity. With a wide smile and a creeping warmth settling on his cheeks, the smaller boy finds himself saying, “Well, if you put it that way…”


End file.
